


Orpheus was a poor boy...

by LookIntoMyTelescope



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: An orpheus origin story y'all, And then we'll get to Hadestown, F/M, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, So we'll see Orpheus's upbringing, Takes place in the Hadestown universe, Totally based on the mythology of orpheus, and the argonauts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookIntoMyTelescope/pseuds/LookIntoMyTelescope
Summary: Orpheus was a mortal born to Gods in a world ripped apart. Could his music repair it?





	Orpheus was a poor boy...

 

Orpheus was born in the haze of smoke that usually accompanied a hot, dry summer. His mother and aunts had just lost their seemingly permanent gig when Ganymede’s went up in smoke, so his joyful arrival in the back of a stranger’s hay truck couldn’t help but be tinged with grief and loss. Calliope and her sisters never did catch the helpful truck driver’s name, but whenever she sang of her son’s life, she always took care to mention what she could recollect of the man. 

 

_ A stranger of speed so great _

_ He did not hesitate _

_ To welcome a laboring traveler aboard _

_ To stow her sisters and son where the cut grass was stored _

_ Asked about presumed cattle he owned _

_ His eyes glowed mischievously _

_ “They aren’t mine, merely loaned” _

 

Orpheus’s mother and aunts were world-renowned performers in a world usually driven insane by the conflicts of Gods and Men. Any fire or tsunami could be forgotten, if only for a moment, when Euterpe played her first note of a song or Thalia launched into her set about Zeus’s insatiable sexual appetites. The mortals were spellbound by these nine sisters, passionately dubbed “The Muses” by a world who wanted to drown in drink and revel in the craft each sister brought. The closing act was usually Calliope, who sang of great heroes and evil men, tributes to Gods and elegies to the destroyed world. She wasn’t the most popular (Thalia and Melpomene’s Black comedy about Persephone and Demeter was the biggest hit), but her usually serene face would crack into a grin anytime she heard a mortal hum one of her tunes while plowing or traveling. 

 

One special observer of her talents was her manager Apollo. He had taught every sister to sing, and they owed him most of their success. He had taken a particular liking to Calliope, harmonizing with her and the cicadas when they first took to the road. She had found her way into his bed more than once, and reveled in the warm, calloused touch that usually lyres had been afforded. Out of this relationship came Orpheus, who was everything his father was, yet mortal. He had the same easy smile that made you feel like you hung the sun in his sky, the unruly curls that often fell into his face, and eyes of warm honey that radiated all the heat in his soul. As soon as Calliope began to show, Apollo left on a suspiciously timed tour, effectively abandoning his lover and child.

 

Despite his absent father, young Orpheus had quite the family. His aunts taught him many things, like how to find the North Star, and how to time a joke to make an audience laugh, but nobody taught him as much as his mother. Orpheus would often sit by his mother’s feet as she practiced her epic for that week’s performance, listening intently to tales of Man’s triumph over monsters and the wrath of Gods. The wide-eyed little boy took all of these messages of hope and triumph and built himself a better world, where a man could bend the Gods to their will and everyone could live without fear. 

When Orpheus was 16, he set off from home to perform his own music, carrying only his mom’s handed down lyre and $15 in his pocket. As he walked through burnt fields and abandoned cities, he could swear he heard a voice. It was a warm voice that caressed his soul with all the music it made, and Orpheus couldn’t help but be drawn to it. He followed the direction of the voice for days on end, leaving him hungry and exhausted at the side of a dusty road, where a tent was raised. He crept into the tent, and the owner of the golden voice sat there, a similarly gilded lyre by his side. He was settled on a chair so gleaming and brilliant, Orpheus had to shield his mortal eyes from it. The sitting man roared with laughter, shaking his head, causing his brilliant golden curls to fall into his honey colored eyes. 

 

“Come here, boy. Sit with me.” 

 

Orpheus nodded hesitantly and sat on the floor across from the throned man. The man called out to a dazed woman behind the boy, and she scrambled to her feet. She brought a basket of bread and bowls of stew to Orpheus and the man. As Orpheus tucked into the meal, having not eaten for days, all the man could do was look at the youth, flashing an easy, radiant smile. After dinner, the man lifted the golden lyre into his lap, and he began to strum absentmindedly. Orpheus lifted his lyre too and began to play a small melody his mother taught him. 

 

_ The Great Musician, Master of Sun _

_ The one who heals man when the Gods’ battles are done _

_ With a song and an instrument won _

_ From the thief Hermes _

_ His thunderous father’s son _

 

Orpheus opened his eyes when he finished with his short song. The man had sat up and furrowed his brow at the young man curiously.

 

“Is that your song?” He asked, trying but failing at holding back his radiant, pride-filled smile.

 

Orpheus looked up at him and nervously spoke up.

 

“Kinda, my aunt told me about Apollo and my mom helped me put it to music.” Apollo’s smile grew wider as he shrugged, his lyre having fallen into his lap.

 

“Calliope and her sisters were always so reverent of me, I’ll give them that.”

 

Orpheus’s eyes widened as he grew confused.

 

“You knew my family?”

 

The man nodded and gently handed his lyre off to the woman, who sat down and began to polish it. He turned back to Orpheus, roaring out the same melodic laughter.

 

“I was their manager. I am Apollo, son.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, hit me up at nick-carraways-side-hoe on tunglr. Give me validation through kudos and comments to get faster updates.


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